Legends of Death
by ThisCatalyst'sPen
Summary: What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.
1. Chapter 1 Lucky Charms

**Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles or the rights to the turtles.**

**A/n: This is a new idea I had that I wanted to jot down. It will be a fairly long story, and at times, may confuse you as it will switch from past to present quite a bit. The first chapter also gives little away for what the story is about. Actually, it doesn't give **_**anything **_**away. Trying a new writing style so, please be patient and give it a go :)**

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**Chapter one  
Lucky Charms**

_Michelangelo_ stuck his head in the cupboard, his tongue poking comically out as he rummaged through the cupboard's contents. With a smile and a 'ah-ha!' Michelangelo held up his prize above his head, showing off his victory to the rest of the kitchen. Smiling triumphantly at the box of _Lucky Charms, _Michelangelo succeeded to pour a mountain of the sweet breakfast cereal treats into a bowl. Grabbing the milk from the fridge, he then presided to pour a copious amount of the smooth white liquid over the mountain of what Michelangelo called 'breakfast.' Rummaging through the top drawer, Michelangelo pulled out a large spoon, scooped up his overflowing bowl of goods and plunked himself down at the table. He gave himself a mental pat-on-the-back for successfully obtaining breakfast.

You on the other hand, dear reader, may not see what the big deal is here. For most, if not all of you, breakfast is a fairly normal, everyday proceeding that does not call for showboating or shenanigans, let alone complementary pats-on-the-backs. However, you do not live with three other very hungry teenage turtles, and not just any turtles either; _mutant ninja_ turtles at that! So, if you think about it, Michelangelo's achievements and showboating is quite justified. For you see, not only did he successfully pour himself a bowl of cereal and manage not to spill the overflowing contents on the floor, but he also succeeded in securing the _last _bowl of the favoured cereal and milk.

Michelangelo grinned to himself through a mouthful of the delicious _Lucky Charms. _He knew that Raphael would be furious that Michelangelo had eaten the last of his favourite cereal, and Donatello would be annoyed that Michelangelo had also used up the last of the milk, meaning the residential genius/inventor/doctor could not make his morning coffee, which he claimed he needed to function. Leonardo, on the other hand, wouldn't really care, seeing as he mostly ate toast or rice for breakfast and only drank herbal tea.

Michelangelo grinned and snickered when he heard the tell-tale signs of a freshly woken up Raphael plonking heavily down the stairs, grumbling obscenities to himself. Michelangelo knew he was going to cop it, but he had to keep himself amused somehow, especially before morning training, which Michelangelo actually found rather boring.

Raphael shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and still grumbling under his breath. Michelangelo watched with baited breath as Raphael moved over to the cupboard, bending down and reaching in for his cereal. Raphael froze, staring with disbelief into the cupboard, still half asleep. Michelangelo giggled.

Raphael whirled around, his eyes narrowing dangerously at his youngest brother. Pointing and accusing finger and grinding his teeth in anger, Raphael tried to calm down enough to speak.

"Mikey...where are the _Lucky Charms_?"

"_Lucky Charms_? Oh, you mean these?" Michelangelo asked innocently, holding out the empy box towards Raphael.

"Please tell me that isn't empty," Raphael growled, his eyes turning a shade darker as he stared down his brother.

Michelangelo pondered this for a second before turning the box upside down and shaking it. "Why yes, it does appear to be empty."

"Mikey!"

Donatello was the next to enter the kitchen, just in time to see his elder brother forth from the mouth. "What's going on in here?" He asked with a yawn, shuffling over to the coffee pot.

"I _apparently _ate the last of Raph's cereal," Michelangelo explained, looking hurt. "It's not like he has his name written on it anyway."

"Oh yes I do," Raphael growled, pointing to his name scribbled on the side in black marker.

"Oh, well maybe next time you should write your name on the top of the box, not the back of it," Michelangelo baited.

Donatello sighed and let the warm aroma of rich, earthy coffee beans sooth his nerves. Opening the fridge, Donatello was about to grab the milk when he realised that the said beverage was missing. Slowly straightening up, Donatello turned slowly around to face Michelangelo.

"Mikey, did you use the last of the milk?" He asked as nicely as he could, trying to keep his face calm and collected.

"Umm, yeah, I did. To go on Raph's cereal," Michelangelo said with a smile.

By now there were two rabid turtles frothing at the mouth at the youngest turtle. Michelangelo couldn't help but beam at his two brothers. "Well, when you guys get breakfast, I'll see you in the dojo." And with that the orange-banded turtle strutted out of the room, feeling pretty pleased with himself.

"What does Mikey look so happy about?" Leonardo asked as he entered the room, a steaming mug of herbal tea in his hands.

"The little brat stole my cereal!" Raphael shouted.

"And used the last of the milk!" Donatello added, looking equally as mad as Raphael.

"Mikey, you're dead you little twerp!" Raphael shouted, racing out of the room like a lion after its spotted it prey.

"Leave some for me!" Donatello yelled, following Raphael out of the room.

Leonardo shook his head and sat at the table, quietly sipping his tea. "I don't understand why they don't just eat toast," Leonardo said to himself with a smirk.

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**A/n: I'm sure you are all sitting there scratching your heads and wondering, "What the hell is this story about?" Well, do not fear for you **_**will **_**find out. Just not yet. I guess you will just have to come back and read the next chapter to find out more.**

**~Cat**


	2. Chapter 2 Have a Taste

**Disclaimer: I do not own**

**A/n: Thank you for the feedback on the first chapter; I'm glad you are liking it so far, though I must warn you it's taking a turn for the worst. This chapter happens after the first, so it is sort of in the present. Any questions please feel free to ask.**

**WARNING: May have content that is disturbing to some; violence, blood and gore and sensitive images.**

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**Chapter two  
****Have a Taste**

_The_ smell of burning flesh was overpowering. The wretched stench filled the night air, like some noxious gas. The smell assaulted Raphael's nostrils harshly. He had never smelt anything like this before, and doubt he would ever smell anything worse. It made him vomit violently on the ground. It succumbed him to his hands and knees. It made him weak.

Spitting bile from his mouth, it took all the energy Raphael had just to raise his head. He knew he would never forget the smell of burning flesh, but he also knew he would never forget the _sound. _Flames cackled loudly, but the sound of screams, of agonised pleas was louder.

Raphael shut his eyes quickly. He could smell it and hear it, but one thing he was sure of, he knew he didn't want to see it. All around him was ablaze. Buildings crumbled to their foundations, nothing more than piles of cinders. Ashes fell from the sky like sickly black rain, and the smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The ground shock violently as more bombs went off, shaking the world to its roots. The sound was deafening, and Raphael's ears were ringing. Blood stained the ground like an elaborate carpet. Bodies scattered the area in alarming numbers, some mangled and bleeding, others burnt to nothing more than a smoking crisp.

Raphael felt warm blood run down his arms and legs. He had been close by when the first bomb went off. Not close enough to be killed in the initial shock, but close enough to be sent hurtling through the air and crashing harshly against the ground. The left side of his face was burnt. Raphael didn't know how bad the burn was; he was beyond feeling anything in his left side now, but he knew he was blind in that eye.

He had long ago lost his weapons, and his knuckles were rubbed raw from fighting with nothing but his fists. He didn't know where his team was; for all he knew they were taken out by the first bomb.

He knew he had to get out of here. He had to call for help.

He struggled to his feet, the world spinning madly around him. His legs were weak and protested strongly against holding him up. They gave way and he fell back to the cold unforgiving ground. He was weak and tired, and only holding on to consciousness by a thread. He was relieved that he still had his phone on him; he just prayed it was damaged from all the fighting.

He tried to block out the sound of the bombs and the anguished cries around him. He pushed himself onto his knees, and began to crawl. It wasn't the most dignified form of travel, but it was the best he could muster. He dodged around bodies and debris that littered the ground haphazardly, and tried to hold on every time the ground shook with another explosion.

The heat from the fire was intense, and Raphael's lungs were filled with smoke, making him cough and wheeze for air. He managed to crawl behind a large rock, leaning against the rough surface. With shaking hands he pulled his phone out and prayed that it would work. It did.

Sighing with relief that at least one thing was working for him so far, Raphael quickly punched in Leo's number and held the phone up to his ear, impatiently waiting for Leo to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Leo, I need your help," Raphael coughed, the thick smoke threatening to suffocate him.

"What's wrong? What's happening out there?" Leo demanded through the phone.

Raphael closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his beak as despair and hopelessness washed through him.

"They're dead, they're all dead."

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Leo hung up, turning to face a concerned Donatello.

"What's happened?"

"He needs our help, now?" Leo said grimly.

"What about the others?" Don pressed. "What about Mikey?"

Leo tried to keep his face composed. He couldn't fall apart, he was the leader.

"He's dead," Leo said in a monotone. "They're all dead."

Donatello felt a wave of numbness crash into his body like a train. His brother, his little brother, was dead. It couldn't be true.

"It is," Leo said, as if he knew what Don was thinking. "We're too late, the bombs have already fallen. We've failed."

"Then we are doomed," Don whispered, looking down at the ground as his eyes welled with tears. "We're all doomed.

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**A/n: I apologise for the shortness of this chapter, and I am sure you are all quite confused. You will find out what happens, but not yet, not just yet ;)**

**Thank you for reading,**

**~Cat**


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